


we will all the pleasures prove

by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)



Series: cottagecore au [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cats, Devoted Reylo, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Modern AU, ben 'i love being hugged by my house' solo, let's explore verb tenses, modern pastoral, mulaney-esque realtor, no pregnancy but a nursery and child are referenced, romance novelist ben, writing this was self care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_theodora/pseuds/lachesisgrimm
Summary: In the spring the bulbs will bloom, each in their time.Rey and Ben buy a house and plant their roots deep.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: cottagecore au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875916
Comments: 110
Kudos: 331





	we will all the pleasures prove

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voicedimplosives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicedimplosives/gifts).



> Dedicated to voicedimplosives, who inspired this fic by retweeting [this tweet](https://twitter.com/apastoraldream/status/1268982420407230465).
> 
> The title is taken from Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love."

_where we have been_

They fell in love with the house at first sight. “Folk Victorian,” the realtor called it, a gleam in her eyes at their obvious pleasure in the fanciful details, the way it was enfolded by the surrounding trees. “Built in 1909, and in excellent condition. Original hardwood, updated kitchen, fireplace…”

She unlocked the door, glancing over her shoulder with an almost mischievous look. “A second bedroom that would be perfect as a nursery.”

They put in an offer before the hour was out, and several days later, after calls and counter-offers and Rey biting her nails almost to the quick, they signed a contract. In their by-the-month beige box of an apartment (“We won’t be here long,” Ben had said with a shrug when they moved from Florida to Vermont, and though he had been right the air of temporariness made Rey itch) they opened a bottle of sparkling wine at three in the afternoon on a weekday, drinking from the crystal flutes inherited from Ben’s grandmother. Their fluffy orange cat, Millicent, watched with disapproval as they laughingly debated paint colors and furniture layouts, as Rey pulled Ben into a giddy dance in the middle of the living room, as he kissed her fervently, both of them more drunk on love and happiness than wine.

When the inspection revealed the need for new windows and a new water heater- and the seller, tired of dealing with repairs, offered to pay the closing costs in lieu of doing the work- they gathered estimates and settled at their kitchen table, calculator apps open and options spread in front of them. “I keep thinking about the view from the bedroom,” Rey said as they forced themselves to discuss whether or not to (regretfully) back out while they were still in due diligence. “All that green.”

She lifted a hand to his brow, mouth quirking into a smile as she stroked the spot where he had accidentally rapped his forehead against a low lintel during their tour. “Though perhaps we should find another place, for the sake of your poor head.”

“I can adjust.” He leaned into her hand, the gold of her engagement and wedding rings cool against his skin. “You know I like small spaces.”

She grinned, nudging the toes of her bare foot against his calf. “Your Smart Car made that very clear, from date one.”

They moved in the last day of July. That night, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and serenaded by a thoroughly unimpressed Millicent, they toasted with wine in paper cups. 

\- - -

Rey had read _The Secret Garden_ while living in her third foster home, and had harbored a deep desire for a garden of her own ever since. As an apartment-dwelling adult, her windowsills had been lined with herbs and flowers in pretty little pots, tended with more care than she sometimes gave herself. 

In year one of therapy- before Ben, when the idea of opening up to another human being was still new enough to hurt- Rey had confessed in a manner more suited to revealing past criminal activity than hobbies that she enjoyed plotting out gardens that existed only in her mind. “Like a puzzle,” she had said, almost defensively. “Because every plant has different needs. You can’t just throw seeds down wherever you want.”

“And you want permanence,” her therapist had gently pointed out, much to Rey’s surprise. “Planting literal roots, planning for each season, every year- that sounds like permanence, to me.”

Rey mused on that as she planted fall crops- carrots, radishes, kale- and tidied the beds where she would plant her spring bulbs (crocuses and snowdrops, tulips and grape hyacinth). Putting down roots, one plant at a time, with full expectation that she would be there to taste and admire the fruits of her labor. 

“We should plant fruit trees,” she told Ben when he came out of the house to offer her a glass of iced tea, feeling daring and bold at the idea of planning for a payoff that would only come years in the future. “Apples and pears and plums, over on the other side of the house.”

He crouched beside her, a gentle smile on his lips. “And cherries?”

“And cherries.” 

As she drank her tea he moved away, and- with a wink in her direction- stripped off his shirt before picking up the waiting ax. “Like what you see?” he called after splitting a log in half, and blushed red, grinning, when she replied with a raucous wolf whistle.

_where we are_

Ben finishes the final draft of his latest book in December, on a day so thick with snow that he can scarcely see a foot past the window. He hears Rey humming in the kitchen, smells the scent of fresh bread, and with satisfaction sends off the story of brilliant Beatrice and her gloomy, secretly soft earl to his publisher. It will sell well, he thinks, and he will give himself a week before plotting out his next.

Rey does not turn when he enters the kitchen (he ducks below the lintel without having to think about it, now), but she does make a happy sound in the back of her throat when he wraps his arms around her from behind, bending to press a kiss against the crook of her neck. “Done with your happy ending?” she asks, and laughs when his fingers dip beneath her sweater to lightly tickle her sides. 

“With that one.” She smells like rosemary, his wife, and lemons. “I’ll never be done with the one in my arms.”

“Sap,” she says, but he can hear her smile. She leans back against him, hair like silk against his cheek. “I’m pretty fond of the happy ending behind me, at that.”

They eat fresh bread with soft, melting butter at their kitchen table, cups of milky Yorkshire tea at hand. Millicent sits on a spare chair, hardly blinking as she wills them to leave the butter dish unattended. They talk about what to make for dinner, about Ben’s coming birthday (the only gift he wants is Rey naked on blankets in front of the fireplace, and she teases him when he admits that fact), about Leia and Han’s visit later in the month.

Ben once believed that he didn’t deserve to be happy. Watching Rey sip her tea, her socked foot covering his own, he is happier than he has ever been. 

\- - -

Their bedroom is cold, in the winter, but Ben’s body heat keeps her cozy under the layered blankets. Rey learns to love the thick wool socks Ben buys from a local sheep farm, and wears them every night in bed. 

She leaves them on, the nights when they shed their clothing and Ben’s hands caress her skin. She leaves them on when his head is between her thighs, arm pinning down her hips as he drives her ever up. She leaves them on when she rides him, hands planted on his broad chest as he stares at her with heat and love and licks his lips at the way her breasts bounce. She leaves them on after, when she darts otherwise naked into the bathroom, and when she returns to cuddle with him under the blankets, his fingers playing with her hair. 

Rey is very fond of her wool socks, truth be told, and Ben seems to like the sight of her in them almost as much. “I should learn to knit,” he says one Sunday as they laze in the living room, removing a sock so that he can massage her foot. 

“Ooh, sexy knitter man.” She wriggles her toes, giving him her best sultry look from the other end of the couch. “Imagine all the puns I could come up with. Imagine the thirst posts I could put on twitter.” In addition to all of her other thirst posts about him, because she is unswerving in what Rose calls _Rey’s husband-gal energy._

When Ben blushes, she crooks a finger in his direction. “Come show me your needle, big guy.”

Offended by their wanton display of affection, Millicent stalks from the room.

_where we are going_

In the spring the bulbs will bloom, each in their time. Rey will plant peas and cabbages, beets and strawberries, arugala and asparagus. She will build a raised bed for an herb garden, sowing catnip and lavender and basil and thyme, lemon verbena and rosemary. They will put out bird-feeders, and Millicent will spend hours perched by the window, chittering as the local bird population descends. 

One day a stray cat will show up at their door, meowing piteously, and they will take him to the vet and give him a home. Orpheus will spend the next ten years happy and sleek, madly in love with a begrudging Millicent. He will never, not once, fail to greet Rey at the door when she returns from work.

They will learn to make jam, and their preserves will become so popular within their circle of loved ones that carefully wrapped jars will be shipped across the country every Christmas, winging their way to Leia and Han, to Maz, to Rose and Finn and Poe. 

They will make new friends in their new town, and one- Kaydel- will teach Rey how to keep bees. She will also teach Ben how to knit, and Rey will wear his first socks (with uneven tension, and the occasional accidental yarnover, and slightly too-tight heels) until the pair is more hole than not.

Their small orchard will grow from saplings to sturdy trees, and the first year Rey makes applesauce from their own apples she will cry and laugh at the same time as she eats spoonful by cooling spoonful, straight from the pot.

The realtor will be wrong. The second bedroom works better as an office for Ben (he will write so many happy endings, there, and they will sell well), so in five years they will add a room to the back of the house, and they will paint it pale chiffon yellow and hang airy white curtains. There will be a padded rocking chair in one corner, and soft carpet on the floor, and a treasure trove of picture books on a low bookshelf along one wall, just waiting to be read to the future occupant of the crib sitting opposite.

There will be summer evenings and winter afternoons, fall tea breaks and spring mornings. Laughter will echo in every corner, and silver will thread their hair. 

They will be happy there, roots digging in deep and sturdy, and their grandchildren will play tag around the fruit trees.


End file.
